Radiation Exposure
by Izupie
Summary: Radiation Exposure was a slow and irreversible process, and Rey begins to understand that human emotions can be exactly the same; her earnest desire to survive affects Kylo Ren more than he realises. But Rey can't afford to be distracted - she still has to figure out a way to escape from Starkiller City. [Reylo] [Also a little Stormpilot] [Nuclear Apocalypse AU]
1. Survival

Heavily inspired by the video game Fallout series by Bethesda and the tv series The 100 by Jason Rothenberg.

Contains kind of grim survival / post-nuclear stuff. Will contain violence and language. May contain some adult scenes later.  
(But it's not all grim and dark, I promise!)

Slow-burn Reylo romance, first time I've ever attempted such a big and ambitious project - so please stick with me! (And tell me what you think?)

Star Wars (c) Disney  
(Cross-posted on AO3)

* * *

 **Radiation Exposure**

Wind whistled around empty streets and the broken shells of buildings that had once been homes. Loose dust and dirt swirled through the forgotten houses, carried by the warm wind, and coated everything in a thick layer of brown. The few houses still standing were missing large sections of roof and walls, with some barely holding together and groaning occasionally under the strain. Others had either fallen down so long ago they were nothing but a pile of crumbled brick and wood, or a strange sight of a roof almost appearing to have squashed what was beneath it, where it had gone more recently; unmaintained structures finally giving in to the ravages of time.

The worst sight of all were the ugly piles of black rubble and charred wood, where the buildings had been reduced to nothing but unrecognisable ash and debris, usually blown up by raiders in a previous skirmish (sometimes you could still find empty casings nearby, or bullet holes in the ground.) But whole or broken, standing or fallen, the one thing uniting it all was the unmistakable coating of brown dust; a constant reminder of the state of the world.

The very planet itself was pretty much dead. But stubborn, tenacious humanity was still clinging onto whatever life they could squeeze out of it.

Everything had gone nuclear a few hundred years ago (nobody was ever sure of the date anymore) and the stories of how it happened were always different, spoken in hurried whispers in the night, as if the subject itself was some kind of taboo.

"Don't tell anyone you heard this from me, but it was definitely the miners - drilled right through to the planets core and released a huge nuclear explosion!"

"I heard it was a secret experiment gone wrong where they were trying to make a _sun."_

"It was divine retribution for our sins."

"Government conspiracy!"

"Terrorists!"

Rey scoffed aloud at the memories, attempting to wipe the sweat from her forehead and only succeeding in smearing brown dirt there instead. What did it matter why it happened? This was the state of the world now.

"You have to-" She began, gritting her teeth as she twisted a particularly stubborn piece of pipe, "- work with what you've got." She grunted as it came fee in her hand. It was the code she lived her life by, a motto to cling to when she was bone achingly lonely and starving in the dead of the night. Rey had been alone for a long time, with nothing but junk and nightmares to keep her company, but it was a solitude she had chosen for herself after the experiences she had faced. People weren't to be trusted beyond the exchange of goods or food. Those were the only things that mattered in the dying world anyway; something you could use or something you could eat.

Rey examined the pipe more closely, turning it over in her experienced hands to check for dents or weaknesses. It was a solid, good piece of metal. She placed it carefully in a small pile of other parts and bits nearby and took a moment to check out her haul for the day; a couple of fuses, some springs, the base of a kettle, various sizes of pipe, a few dusty cans of food, a broken oven bulb and some lengths of usable wire. While she contemplated one last search, just to be thorough, the house groaned and creaked loudly in the silence and Rey decided to quit while she was ahead, gathering up the items and putting them into a large canvas bag slung over her shoulder. It clanked as she straightened up and she adjusted the strap to be more comfortable, wiping her forehead again with the back of her hand. Judging by the colour of the sky, that she could see through a gaping hole in the roof, there was only about an hour of daylight left anyway, so she was cutting it fine for getting back before dark. There were things far worse than raiders prowling around the wastelands after the sun had set.

Rey made her way carefully across the dirty room that had once been the kitchen, climbing over fallen ceiling beams and the remains of the appliances she had picked apart, making sure to retrieve her staff from where she had propped it up earlier. The feel of the metal was comforting and familiar and Rey used it to steady herself as she climbed over the uneven surface. She had turned an old metal curtain pole into her weapon some years ago, when she'd found it in pristine condition still attached to a wall above a rare intact window frame. It had been easy enough to remove (providing the added bonus of the un-rusted screws holding it in place) and hammer dents into the middle, to make it thinner and create a surface with grip, then she flattened the hollow ends down into paddle shapes on both ends, making it solid enough to cause damage, but still light enough for her to carry and use. She had a quick mind and a talent for scavenging anything that could be used, fixed or turned into something else, finding treasures in places that many would consider picked clean. She was lucky in that scavenging came quite naturally, but she knew she would never have gotten as skilled if it wasn't for her years of harsh experience, and her hands still bore the many scars from scratches of scrap metal and burns from her early attempts at rewiring. Now she could take a radio apart and put it back together in her sleep, and knew exactly which parts from other appliances were the most valuable for use in other things, or could be traded on for food. But it made Rey thoroughly sick to admit that her early life had well equipped her for living alone in the nuclear wasteland, and she always avoided the cold traitorous thoughts lingering like frost in the back of her mind; maybe it had all been worth it? Maybe it had been a good thing all along?

Rey shook herself free of the memories threatening to surface and instead focused on navigating herself out of the rest of the broken house. She was in the entrance hall now, the kitchen she had just come from behind her, an empty doorway to the living room in front (containing only a rotten sofa and the dusty remains of what she'd left behind of the television she had enjoyed taking apart) but she let her gaze linger on a room further down the hall. The door was at an odd angle in the frame, as if it was only being held in place by being propped up by something on the other side, and though the paint had almost completely blistered and peeled she could just about make out flowers painted onto the old wood.

It could only be a bedroom.

She'd come across them before from time to time, where a room was barricaded from the other side, and usually ignored them. It felt wrong somehow to tear down the last defences someone had made for their lives, even if they were long gone. Of course there were times she came across obvious signs of someone else having no moral compass like her own, and the remains of a wardrobe or chest of drawers would be carelessly strewn across the room where a raider of scavenger had forced their way past a barricaded door. But there had been a time when Rey was so desperately hungry that she went back to a house she had previously searched, for anything she might have missed, and had ended up doing exactly the same. Though she'd never stopped regretting it.

Back then she'd only just started making it on her own, and food seemed to be a constant, serious issue. She went back to a remote farmhouse she'd already searched, knowing the bedroom had been the only room she left untouched. With a considerable amount of effort Rey had pushed against the pile of junk holding the door shut and stumbled into the room when it finally gave way, as an old wardrobe fell over and smashed against the floor. Dust that hadn't been disturbed for a lifetime dispersed into the air like a brown fog and Rey had tugged the scarf around her mouth and nose higher to keep it out. As the haze settled she noticed the bed. She was no stranger to death, and had seen bodies both old and new enough times to be largely unaffected by it - the world was harsh and death was something you had to get used to - but the skeletons on that bed became a sight that burned itself into her memory. Even now she could see them in her mind; two skeletons so old time had robbed them of flesh, curled around each other, heads perfectly in line, and a rusty gun on the mattress still pointed at the temple of the first. Both sets of skeletal hands were still clutched around the pistol, and with mounting horror sending sheets of ice down her veins, Rey noticed the dark brown stain on the rotting sheets, darkest where their heads lay together.

She'd seen dead bodies, but that's all they ever were, those two had had a life, been in love, died together... It made them seem too human. And she had opened their tomb, become a grave robber, and disturbed that place they had made for themselves...

Rey gripped her hands by her side, blinking away shameful tears before they could fall, and swallowing the bile rising in her throat from the memory. With a heavy heart she turned away from the bedroom door.

Never again.

She adjusted the bag on her shoulder once more and pushed her staff through a sturdy hole in the canvas strap, holding it in place and leaving her hands free. Carefully she found foot and hand holes in the broken wall beside the front door, pulling herself up with ease, despite the bag of parts around her shoulders. The front entrance to the house was blocked by a large piece of the roof that had fallen down, taking some of the wall with it, so she had found it to be a good one for searching, since it was difficult to access by raiders or opportunistic scavengers. She'd been climbing in and out of wrecks for so many years that she rarely found one she couldn't get into somehow, and was soon lowering herself down to the ground outside of the house. Rey wiped her dusty hands on her already dirty brown tunic as she took a step back and looked around one last time. The rest of the houses in the tiny settlement had either been totally picked clean, fallen down or blown apart, so she had no reason to return again.

It was always a little melancholy to walk out of a place knowing it was only going to fall more into ruin. People had lived there once, and they'd all had their own stories, families, friends... Rey turned away and began the long walk home. Now there was nothing but dust and the sound of the wind as it blew through the dead space.

The sun cast long dark shadows as it set, and Rey gripped her staff tightly as she walked along broken tarmac. Normally she wouldn't walk on roads, as it was so exposed and the occasional rusty wrecks of cars were easy for raiders or other scum to hide behind, but she was walking along one today in an effort to get back as quickly as possible. It was a small road and didn't lead anywhere important, so she was mostly confident she wouldn't meet with any trouble. Roads were like a beacon of the old humanity that a lot of people found hard to resist, and they'd walk the uneven and cracked surfaces (broken were weeds were beginning to poke through) unaware of how much danger they were in. Especially on the big roads. She usually picked her way across the wasteland scrubs, her brown clothing making her difficult to see, though she always had to be wary of crunching dry grass under her boots.

Rey was almost home when a snarl and a screech ripped through the silence. She swung her staff up to grip it in both hands, adopting an instant defensive stance, then saw a flash of ginger and white dart off to her left between overgrown yellow grass. There was a hiss and a yelp and her heart leapt into her throat as she took off to race after the sound, bag bumping uncomfortably against her legs. She flung the canvas bag to the ground with a loud clank as she heard another high pitched screech, speed picking up as she ran unhindered.

"BB-8!" She yelled, as she came across the owners of the noise. A fluffy ginger and white cat was crouched low to the ground, ears flat against its head, as it hissed at a skinny dog, bones clearly visible through its skin. The dog looked awful; its fur had fallen away in patches to reveal blistered and shiny skin beneath, one of its ears had been torn to shreds and it appeared to have a second partially grown tail at the base of the first. Rey wasted no time in moving forward, steady and cautiously now she was in biting distance of the dog, to position herself defensively in front of BB-8. The dog let out a low growl, its green eyes glazed with a madness she recognised, and there was a heartbeat where neither animal nor human moved. Then the dog lunged. She twisted her body at the waist as the creature launched itself at her, putting momentum and her own body strength into the staff's swing. It was a risky move, putting so much force behind the commitment of one heavy blow, but the metal connected with a sickening crunch and the lifeless body thumped to the ground.

She let out a steady breath.

Finally Rey turned to the cat behind her, crouching down and putting her hand out in a friendly gesture.

"Are you okay BB-8? You're not hurt are you? Come here, come on, it's just me." Rey spoke in a hushed tone filled with concern as the large cat stepped tentatively forward, recognising the voice, and touched his pink nose to her hand. "Good boy, good boy." She crooned, stroking his fluffy fur over and over. There was no blood or obvious signs of discomfort at her touch, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She liked animals far more than she liked humans, and BB-8 was particularly special to her.

Straightening up Rey took a look at the dead creature, feeling a small twinge of pity and guilt. She didn't like killing anything, especially animals, but these sorts of dogs were becoming a problem. Their fur fell out in clumps as their skin became riddled with sores, there was usually strange extra limb growth, they went half mad on the pain of it all, and their eyes became a dull green colour. All the effects of terrible radiation poisoning that was only getting worse, especially as they continued to breed in large numbers and pass their strange mutations to their offspring. It was a kindness to put them down, she told herself.

"Come on, let's go home." Rey said with warmth to the cat now winding itself around her legs, as if sensing her discomfort. He trilled excitedly at the word home and she let herself smile slightly, he was the most good natured thing she had come across in the wastelands and she struggled to believe the same cat had just been hissing and screeching in defence of his life.

With barely any effort she picked the dog up, pushing away her disgust, and cringed at its lightness. Poor creature. The meat was full of radiation, but if she cooked it for long enough it wouldn't be quite so bad. Food was not something you could afford to be picky about if you wanted to survive. Rey walked back to her abandoned bag, still sat where she had thrown it, and heaved it onto a shoulder, putting her staff back in its holding place through the hole in the canvas.

BB-8 trotted at her heels for the rest of the short journey home, occasionally wandering off to smell something and coming back with his fluffy white tail held high. He trilled again as the broken down coach came into view, and he raced ahead before disappearing from view when he squeezed himself through the secret entrance. The sun had almost completely set now and Rey was relieved to be back, her mood brightening the closer she got to the place she called home.

The coach was a double decked luxury vehicle, originally designed to take people to destinations in comfort and style. The road it had stopped near was small and the only places of any interest for miles was a gas station (that Rey avoided because it had been taken over by raiders) and the tiny cluster of houses she had just come from. She spent many hours making up stories of how it came to stop in the middle of nowhere; maybe it had been stolen? Run out of gas? Maybe the driver had stopped and been killed? It was a curiosity she would never be able to satisfy, but it was strange that a big fancy coach like that should be seemingly parked up between some bare, dead tree trunks a little way off such an obscure route.

It was just far enough away from the road that it wasn't too easily noticeable, the dark colour of the fading paintwork matching the dead wood it stood between, and Rey had been lucky to spot it when she first came this way many years ago.

She put the dog on the ground as approached the tree nearest the coach, climbing up its dead bark without even concentrating by using the same route she always did. Foot goes here, hand goes there... and dropped herself onto the roof of the tall vehicle. Where there used to be a glass window in the centre of the roof, to let light inside, was now a metal panel that she pushed on one side until it gave way, slipping down onto a chair she had placed beneath the opening. BB-8 was already inside, curled up on a blanket on another of the soft coach seats, and Rey stroked a hand over his fur as she passed him.

Most of the seats she had left where they were, but some she had unscrewed and moved; one was below her secret entrance, a group of them pushed together formed a bed and another was for BB-8. Bits of junk, parts and wire covered almost every other chair and there was a large space on the floor where a radio that had been taken apart was laid out next to three complete ones, along with a pile of tools and other odd bits of metal. The windows were all intact, but wooden boards had been placed along the bottom half of each one on the top deck, so from the ground it would be impossible to see inside, though Rey was tall enough to see above the wood from her perspective - giving her a good view of her surroundings while concealing her. It was important that nobody saw the treasures she had collected, or noticed anyone living there.

Rey put her bag down near the radios and continued to the small steps leading to the lower deck of the coach. She descended into complete darkness as the windows and the glass door on the bottom deck were entirely boarded over, blocking out any natural light from the moon. It also meant she couldn't see outside from the lower deck, so she didn't like to stay down there too long. She shivered slightly, the lower deck was always a little chilly, and moved down the centre aisle to flick a switch on a car battery, making a single light bulb illuminate the darkness. It had taken her a long time to adapt a car battery to power a light bulb, and she was always conscious about not using it for too long to limit the amount of power she had to use - car batteries and bulbs in good condition were getting harder to scavenge. It wasn't a strong light, but it was enough, and she'd done the same on the deck above, always thankful for her ingenuity. She moved to the very back of the coach to a huge cluster of bottles, jars and cans all containing food or water, and took a huge gulp from one of the bottles. She cringed at the taste but took another gulp anyway, needing it to quench her thirst after her long day. Water had to be boiled and bottled every few days, and she took a look at the water left before feeling a small frown tug at her lips, she needed to get some more tomorrow.

The best thing about the luxury coach was the tiny kitchen at the back, and Rey had taken most of it apart immediately, getting some great parts from the oven, the microwave and the tiny fridge, and the utensils were always useful too. She took a large sharp knife from a drawer and turned off the little light on her way back out and up the stairs.

BB-8 was still curled up on his blanket and Rey emptied the rest of the water bottle into his water dish nearby, watching his whiskers twitch at the sound.

She used her staff to prop open the metal hatch and climbed up and out of her little home, while the knife flashed in the moonlight, safely stored in her belt, as she descended the tree. The dog was still where the she left it and she picked it up, taking it to a little river nearby to start the grim but inescapable task of skinning and dividing up the meat.

After Rey had cooked the meat on a little fire just outside the coach, behind its bulk to shield it from notice, she took it back inside to eat. BB-8 had a small piece, since Rey was never quite sure if a cat should eat irradiated dog meat, and he always seemed to feed himself when he wondered off anyway, and she crumbled a little of her precious radiation poisoning tablets in his portion too. The tablets were widely available just after The Event, for survivors struggling with the effects radiation ravaged on the human body, but after the collapse of society and mass production they were much harder to come by. She didn't know if they were fit for animal consumption either, but she gave a small dose to her cat every week just in case. She hadn't felt any of the effects of radiation poisoning herself, so kept up the weekly dosages to ensure she wouldn't start. The stories she'd heard as a child about the effects of over exposure to radiation were enough to keep her awake at night.

She yawned and tightened the buns at the back of her hair, a style she had always worn that was both practical and identifying, if anyone should ever need to recognise her from her past, and picked up a screwdriver to mark a notch into a section of coach wall that was already covered in similar notches.

Another day over. Just surviving was what kept her going, but she often wondered if there was any other sort of satisfaction to be gained from life. Was this all there was? Notches on a wall, walking her feet raw across dead irradiated wasteland for bits of scrap and junk, eating dogs and just... living. It was preferable to how she had been forced to live her life before, but did that make it good?

Rey lay down on her makeshift bed and closed her eyes.

It was only a few hours before Rey heard the gunfire.

She sat up instantly and grabbed her staff, racing to one of the windows. She could just about see some flashes in the distance, but the gunfire was echoing loudly. BB-8 was already awake, sitting up perfectly straight with his ears flicking at each bang, eyes wide and searching. She moved to comfort the cat by scratching his chin and felt some of the tension leave his body. Going towards the sounds of fighting seemed crazy, but she had to check what was going on so close to her home, and had to protect it if she had to. Guns were rusty and crudely put together these days, and ammo wasn't too easy to come by, so she wasn't too concerned. She was quick, small and her staff was a silent weapon, so she could stay hidden if she needed to.

"I'll be back soon." She whispered into the neck fur of her only friend, giving him a last scratch behind his ears as she tore away and made her way to the secret hatch. Once outside, she grabbed the staff propping it open and pulled it up with her. The gunfire was sporadic and loud, so they weren't too far away, and she could hear snippets of yelling.

Rey crouched low, pulled her scarf up over her mouth, and set off in the direction of the noise.

She stuck to the shadows of dead tree trunks, and stayed low in the long yellow scrubs, sweeping soundlessly across the ground. As she got nearer the main source of the noise she realised she could start making out some of the yelling:

"- and we already told you lot we ain't joinin'!"

"- First Order can fuck off!"

 _First Order?_ Rey wondered, still moving closer. She hadn't even noticed how far away from the coach she had strayed until she realised she could just about make out the shape of the gas station that she knew was a raider den, and the small shadows of people outside it illuminated briefly by the flash of more gunfire. She squinted and moved forward cautiously, not wanting to alert anyone to her presence, unable to believe that a group of people were taking on the raiders. She stopped a safe distance away and noticed the ground at the entrance to the shabby building was littered with bodies, with only a few leather clad raiders still standing. The group of people shooting at them were across the road hiding behind strange shields made out of metal, and they made short work of the last few left alive, all the noise suddenly fading away as the gunfire ceased.

The silence was almost disturbing.

She looked again at the attackers, feeling a strange sense of dread settle in her stomach as she noticed the masks on all of their faces. These were not good people. It was unsettling to see that every one of them had their faces covered by gas masks, of all shapes and sizes - some covered the entirety of the face, others only had the goggles and mouth piece. Rey shuddered, not understanding this cold and terrible feeling washing over her, and attempted to back away.

But she backed into something solid.

"Don't move." Came an impossibly deep and almost metallic voice at her ear.


	2. Prisoner

I tried really hard to make this chapter exciting and dramatic (?) and some of the plot begins to reveal itself.  
(Also thanks for everyone's kind reviews and interest so far!)

(Cross-posted on AO3)

* * *

 **Prisoner**

"Don't move."

Rey froze. Not because the voice told her to do so, but because she could hear the raw threat lurking under the deep metallic rumble, and feel the cold pressure of a gun barrel pressed to the base of her skull. It wasn't a request, it wasn't a statement, it was a simple command - be still or die.

Her knuckles went white with the force of her grip on her staff, as she fought with the instinct to turn and swing, but she was the one without the advantage in this situation and she knew she had to bide her time. Wait for the perfect moment.

The pressure of the gun lessened slightly as the stranger recognised her compliance. But she couldn't help but feel he was also underestimating her, as she remembered the brief sensation of backing into them, and feeling as if she'd backed into a wall; this person was tall, much taller than her, broad and solid, obviously male, and clearly didn't think was much of a threat. The gun moved back just a fraction more from her skin and she seized the opportunity instantly. She lurched violently to the left, heard the deafening explosion of the gun go off where her head had just been, and brought her staff up in an arc as she span towards him. The staff slammed against his hand with force and the gun flew out of his grasp with a surprised grunt, landing somewhere in the dry grass. In his second of hesitation at being caught so off-guard she shook her head to try and clear it of the shrill ringing noise from the gunshot, lancing painfully through her skull, then moved in quickly for another swing. But he was ready this time and dodged swiftly backwards, just out of her reach. She grit her teeth and pushed forward, swinging again by using the momentum from her first attempt to twirl the staff around and pull it in the opposite direction. She felt it connect with something, but it was too unyielding to be flesh, and the clang of metal on metal registered even through the incessant ringing in her ears.

The stranger was holding up a metal rod, with both black gloved hands clamped firmly around its dark handle up by his face; the rod pointed down at the floor to the block the side she was about to crush with her staff. She could only guess it had been concealed under his thick cloak and he had managed to pull it out to deflect her blow just in time. He used her moment of surprised hesitation to put all his weight behind a flick of his wrist to hook the metal rod behind the staff and wrench it from her hands.

Rey didn't watch where it landed. Her intense gaze didn't leave the stranger, and she straightened up as he pointed his weapon at her chest. She struggled to maintain her steady breathing and facade of calm as she seethed with frustration and fear.

So this was what all her survival was for? This was the end that had been awaiting her all along?

There had to be a way out of this - there was always a way out.

Her gaze didn't waver as she attempted to form any kind of plan that would allow her to leave the situation alive. All of them didn't end well for the stranger. He _was_ tall like she thought, and covered from head to toe in heavy black clothing; a large hooded cloak, a scarf and black arm wraps that completely covered his arms. He also wore a mask, like the others, but his was different - it didn't look like a traditional gas mask, as it seemed designed to fit his face specifically, in a design that was black with decorative silver running across it and a completely opaque visor hiding his eyes. His whole get up removed anything remotely human about him... and it was terrifying.

"Hold your fire." Came the deep metallic rumble again, and only then did Rey notice members of the masked group from before, surrounding them in the shadows. All of their guns were pointed at her. "Restrain her."

The group instantly lowered their weapons and surged forward. Two of them grabbed her arms and one held onto her shoulders from behind, so even though she twisted and struggled in their grip, it was futile. Her arms were forcefully pulled in front of her by another, and she felt metal clamp firmly around both wrists.

Not again. She didn't want to be a prisoner again. Rey resisted the urge to scream at them that she'd rather die - she was quite sure they'd take her up on it. She clenched her jaw hard in the effort to keep it shut, feeling the muscles straining. _There was always a way out,_ she told herself over and over. There was no coming back from death, the one thing there was no escaping from, so as long as she was alive she still had a chance. She just had to stick by the mantra that had never failed her; _you have to work with what you've got._

All the while her eyes never strayed from the masked stranger, and even though she couldn't see behind his visor she could almost feel the weight of his gaze assessing her. He pushed aside a part of his cloak and placed the metal rod through a loop in his belt, pulling the material back to conceal it once more, confirming what Rey had assumed about the hidden weapon.

"Who are you people?" She hissed.

Nobody replied, but the stranger, who was obviously the leader, took several slow, heavy steps away from her and bent to the ground. He reached out a hand to pick something up but pulled it back sharply, changing hands to pick it up with his left instead. She realised, with a warm burst of satisfaction, that his right hand had been the one holding the gun. The one her staff had slammed into. She hoped it was broken. But the warm feeling instantly bubbled into anger as he turned to walk back to them and she saw that he was now holding that same staff. She struggled again against her captors, but they only increased the pressure on her arms to keep her still.

"Who are you?" She asked again through clenched teeth as he examined her weapon.

He let the question hang for a moment. "Put her with the others." He rumbled, ignoring her.

She was shoved roughly on both sides as they forced her to walk, turning her away from their leader and towards the gas station. Rey tried desperately to dig her heels into the dirt but that only succeeded in them dragging her along, as her feet found no purchase in the dry dust. So she walked. They weren't any gentler for her compliance and she knew there'd be dark bruises on her arms tomorrow.

 _Tomorrow._ At least she had that, she thought, letting the idea sober her. Rey took a deep breath of the fresh night air. As long as she was alive everything was still a possibility. She had no idea who these people were, or what they were planning to do to her, but as long as she kept surviving she was doing what she'd always done best. But a stray though pierced her heart as she was led away, and she willed her legs to stay steady; the last thing she had said to BB-8 was that she would be back.

Rey was led to a small group of people sitting on the floor just outside of the gas station building. She noticed the bodies of the dead raiders were gone, and she peered through the open doorway on her way past to see more of the attackers shoving all the belongings inside into bags by flickering lamplight. She got the impression they'd all done this many times before. She was pushed roughly forwards as her guards finally let go and she stumbled . Her hands were still bound together in metal shackles in front of her and she hated how off balance it made her feel.

It was still the middle of the night, but the sky was clear and the moon shone brightly, so although she couldn't see in detail, Rey took a look at the people sat on the ground as she lowered herself down to sit cross-legged at the edge of the group. There were six of them; four men and two women, but only a couple of them looked up with any kind of interest at her arrival. They were all shackled like herself, though she doubted some of them lacked the strength to attempt an escape even if they weren't wearing any. All of them were very thin and shabby in appearance; their clothes were dirty and torn in places, all of the men had unkempt facial hair (one of them had a beard that reached his chest) and though there had been a little interest in her approach, nobody looked in her direction. Rey had always been small and skinny, but her years of scavenging had built up her muscle and she was clearly better fed than this gaunt group as she looked positively healthy beside them. It had been a long time since she'd been around people who weren't going to attack her on sight, other than the always well off passing traders, and she had forgotten just how much of a toll surviving in the nuclear wastelands could take on a person.

There were two guards standing around them (the same two who had manhandled her earlier, she realised with intense dislike) and she could still hear the sounds of looting going on from inside the gas station. Two more stood by the remains of a large rusty road sign that had once displayed the gas prices, another couple were by one of the only remaining gas pumps and she could make out at least three more patrolling the road. All were armed with guns. But where was the cloaked stranger from before? The thought of him brought back a rush of resentment and fear. It was his fault she was in this mess. He was so intense and strange; the man dressed as a monster. If he'd never spotted her in the first place, or if he hadn't dodged and blocked her blows... She would be back home with BB-8 already. Rey sighed heavily and let out the angry emotions, leaving only a hollow sort of sadness behind. She knew it was silly to feel as if she were breaking her promise to a cat, since he didn't even comprehend anything like that, but even so she knew how it felt to wait for someone who never came back. He had his own secret entrance to the coach, through a cat-sized hole she'd made in the floor of the bottom deck, so he could come and go as he pleased, and she already knew he somehow managed to feed himself when he went out for the day. Cats were very self-sufficient, so she tried not to worry about his well-being too much. She had her own to worry about now, so she could only hope he'd be okay until she found some way to get back to him.

Rey shuffled over to the nearest person, a woman with long curly hair and a grim expression, and spoke quietly. "Who are these people?"

The woman's tired eyes looked up at her as if she'd only just noticed Rey was there.

"The people in the gas masks," she tried again, raising her voice a little, "who are they?"

The woman furrowed her brows in confusion and Rey began to wonder if she even understood English, but then she leaned forward slightly and spoke in a hoarse whisper. "You don't... You don't know?"

Rey shook her head.

"You don't... How could you... You..." She looked as if she might burst into laughter and her tired eyes took on a wild light as she inclined her head towards the guards nearby. "But the gas masks, you seem 'em don't you? This here's The First Order, and we're the lucky bastards they've taken prisoner. I don't know what rock you've been hiding under, girly, but everyone knows that you get caught by The First Order and you _don't come back."_ The woman shuffled closer and Rey flinched back slightly, seeing the dark bags under green eyes more clearly, and noticing the fresh sticky sores running down one side of her face and neck. She was speechless with horror as the woman continued, her whispers growing louder and more frantic.

"How don't you know? It's off to Starkiller City with us all... Say now, girly, you look well-fed, you look like you're doin' well, you a spy for The First Order? Pretend you don't know 'em, ask us what we think and see what we say?" Her gaunt face leaned even closer and Rey prepared herself to shove her away.

"Hey, you there! Quiet down!" The command barked from the nearest guard was muffled strangely by his gas mask, but the woman still sprang back from Rey as if she had been burned. She sat back to where she had been before they'd spoken, picked absentmindedly at the scabs in her hairline, muttered some words under her breath and then finally was still once more - staring blankly ahead like nothing had happened. None of the others so much as twitched at the commotion, all in the same daze as her.

Radiation poisoning.

Rey clenched her fists as hard as she could in her shackles and tried to force back the nausea. She hadn't seen it in a human like that in a very long time.

Everything was tainted with radiation; the food you ate the water you drank, even the air you breathed, and left untreated it would build and build inside until it affected you grip on reality and burned your skin away. At its worst she'd seen someone who's sores were so extensive that their hair had fallen out, their flesh was warped and scarred, and they had been screeching incoherently about the end of the world. Another memory she wished she could forget. Finding anti-radiation medication had always been one of her top priorities whenever she went out scavenging, and she'd always been pretty lucky because she knew the best places to look. At one time the tablets had been worth more to people than food, because the levels of radiation were much higher back then, so people had found secret, safe places to stash such precious items; under loose floorboards, inside pretend hollowed out books or stuck to the back of ruined picture frames. She'd had to get creative with her searches. But seeing it close up like that made her remember why she went to all the trouble.

Rey moved herself as far away from the other prisoners as she could get away with, conscious of the watching guards, and lay down to face the sky. It was completely clear of clouds, like it often was, so the moon and stars shone brightly overhead and the dusty ground was cool against her back. It calmed her frayed nerves, and she noticed that her hands had finally stopped shaking. In the last few hours she'd (potentially) broken someone's hand, lost her staff, broken her word to her best friend and been taken prisoner by some weird cult she knew only as 'The First Order'. What the woman had said before unnerved her more than she'd like to admit, and she remembered hearing snippets of the raiders yelling that they wouldn't join, and had obviously rather died than surrender themselves over. What kind of people were these? And what did they want with such a sorry group of prisoners and _her?_ She didn't even have radiation poisoning. Or maybe it was a coincidence they were all sick? No, they were obviously picking up these poor people on purpose, so why capture her too? She thought back to her fight with the cloaked leader; though that didn't provide much clues. He was extremely enigmatic and seemed to be a person of few words, though he had seemed genuinely surprised when she'd successfully disarmed him.

Rey frowned at the stars. The whole situation was surreal, even in the messed up world she was used to. Worst of all was that escaping seemed like less of a possibility with every passing second.

When the sun finally started to rise Rey watched the stars fade one by one into the morning sky. The sounds of all the looting had stopped after a while and Rey guessed that the gas-masked group had waited out the night in the shabby little building. The guards watching the prisoners were changed periodically and she noticed the ones patrolling the road and site were changed every so often too. None of them seemed to speak much, and then they did it was clipped and to the point, still sounding muffled by the plastic and rubber on their faces. She had been hoping for some kind of lapse in their switching or attention, but each fresh guard was alert and the changeover was performed with practiced precision. Their leader didn't make another appearance through the night either, which she didn't mind.

Rey heard the crunch of boots approach.

"Alright, get up. Come on." A short member of The First Order stood with his gun pointed at the prisoners, his gas mask barely more than a pair of over-sized goggles that took up most of his ratty looking face, with a small breathing cylinder held in place over his mouth by leather straps around his head. Like all of the others he was wearing an eclectic mix of materials and styles of clothing, that looked handmade and new.

"Get a move on." He snapped, shaking his gun at them, which Rey noticed with surprise also looked shiny and new.

The prisoners got to their feet in a slow daze, except the woman with the curly hair from before, who groaned and wailed loudly as Rey also stood up, wincing at the stiffness in her back.

The woman attempted to stand but fell heavily forwards and writhed in the dirt, her wails getting louder. Her ripped and dirty skirt had ridden up during her thrashing about on the floor to reveal a plethora of open and oozing sores on red raw skin, and at another command to get up from the short guard she just shook her head and groaned again.

"I can't, I can't." She twisted and turned on the ground, overcome by her pain and confusion, and Rey retreated from the pitiful sight. "Help me!" She wailed. "Help me! I can't -"

Her initial horror turned to pity as Rey began to move forward to try and help the poor woman to her feet.

There was a gunshot.

The woman ceased her struggling and crumpled, finally silent. Blood pooled beneath her chest, oozing out over the dry cracked earth she lay on, and bloomed a red stain on her old shirt.

Rey's head whipped around to where the gunshot had come from, and found her hatred for the cloaked leader intensifying into an inferno beneath her skin. The members of The First Order had all hastily lined themselves up into a perfect formation at his arrival and he lowered the gun to put it into a holster on his belt, also hidden beneath layers of heavy cloak. The other prisoners looked vaguely scared by the sudden gunshot noise, but none of them spared a glance for their fallen member.

She knew he was looking at her. She couldn't see his eyes, or his expression, but she could feel him looking at her, and she wondered what he could see; a look of pure revulsion and hatred? It lasted only a moment, and then he turned away, throwing his order over his shoulder at the rest of the group in barely more than a growl.

"We move out to Starkiller City immediately."

He stalked ahead along the road and the rest of the group turned in formation to follow him. Rey felt a gun prod her in the back to start walking and she followed the other prisoners with a scowl, blinking back tears that burned in her eyes. Each step took her further away from home. She allowed herself one quick glance at the thin, sad body abandoned on the empty forecourt and then stared straight ahead. She was on her way to Starkiller City - to the base of The First Order.


	3. The First Step

Sorry about the delay for this chapter, I found it extremely difficult to write - it went through about three versions before I felt satisfied enough with this one.  
Thanks again for everyone's really lovely comments, they encouraged me to keep rewriting!

(Cross-posted on AO3)

* * *

 **The First Step**

Memories were the only things keeping Rey company on the seemingly endless march to Starkiller City. The other prisoners walked single file ahead of her, shuffling their feet in a dazed stupor, the gas masked members of The First Order marched in formation surrounding them, and their leader, a dark smudge on the tarmac, stalked ahead of the group, flanked by two bodyguards. He was a fair distance in front and Rey wondered whether he made the others march that far back, or whether they instinctively hung back through fear. Everything about him was clearly designed for maximum intimidation so Rey suspected it was the latter. A flash of something dark and raw shot through her as she stared at the distant black figure and remembered the sight of a woman abandoned to bleed out alone; mouth still open in silenced desperate cries and limbs twisted at odd angles from writhing in agony.

Rey had to remind herself that she'd been away from humanity for so long that she just wasn't used to its cruelty again yet. She couldn't dwell on it. But with the steady crunch of boots on the road and the never-changing brown landscape on all sides, it was difficult to keep the memories down and her feelings under control.

She mostly remembered her childhood.

Back then she hadn't needed shackles or the pressure of a gun at her back to be a prisoner, just the supply of food rations and empty promises.

It was during those long, lonely years that she decided she didn't care much for people. All she'd ever had from humans was hardship and lies; they were selfish and complicated and didn't mind improving their chances of survival by ruining someone else's. That was why she always preferred the company of animals, since they only required to live out their lives by killing to eat or to defend themselves. Humans weren't like that at all. Once she'd escaped she'd found it easier to just avoid people altogether, finding comfort in the friendship of her cat, and purpose in their continued survival.

She regretted leaving the coach that night. She wished over and over that she'd stayed in the safety of her home and gone back to sleep. But who was to say that they wouldn't have come back another day and explored further along? They didn't seem like the sort of group who would have passed the vehicle over. In the end it was her decision to see what was going on that haunted her the most, because she knew deep down it wasn't because she had been curious, or that she was going out to defend her home; she had left to see if someone needed her help. She couldn't silence a little voice telling her that _that's_ what she hated about people - she still wanted to help them, even after everything they'd done to her.

But helping people or being helped by others was not a rule in the world she lived in. That sort of philosophy was only going to get somebody killed.

Rey looked down at her shackled wrists as she walked, her feet moving of their own accord even though she had long since bothered to put effort into the movement, and then brought them up by her face for a closer look; she hadn't noticed before how shiny and new the metal looked. With a spark of interest she remembered that their guns all had a similar appearance, and took subtle glances at the guards and their firearms flashing in the sunlight at their hips. Rusty guns certainly didn't shine like that, and her eyebrows furrowed in thought.

When mass manufacture and industry collapsed new things stopped being produced in a way that people could easily get hold of. That's why travelling merchants were so well-off, because they provided an accessible way to acquire goods besides scavenging for them yourself - provided you had the food or goods to trade with them. They usually had slaves that would scavenge for them, or repurpose old junk into functional items, so they didn't even have to do the work themselves, she remembered bitterly, so most of them were lazy scum bags too. So even when something was 'made' it was put together using old parts and pieces, leaving some signs of visible wear or modification on it somewhere. Most guns had been around for so long (guns were still being manufactured until just after The Event) that they were usually rusted over or combined and modded with other guns using whatever materials would make them stick together. She had seen them with crude welding jobs, paint over rust or even held together with tape and nails. But these people all had shiny, identical handguns that could only be new - which meant they were making them. If The First Order had the means to make guns they were an entirely new level of threat that Rey hadn't anticipated.

Now that she thought about it, the newness of their clothes and weapons and the practiced and organised nature of their movements suggested this was more than just another mad cult like she had assumed.

There were countless cults in the wastelands; people all banding together to provide a large enough force to beat the other cults into submission. It was always about who could hit the hardest with the most force, so they would raid each other to fuse the groups or wipe others out entirely. When she saw The First Order taking on the raiders, she assumed they were just another cult like the others, but clearly they had some methods of production, organisation and the requirement of prisoners. (Though she still couldn't fathom why they would pick up people with radiation poisoning so severe.)

More than ever she realised the importance of finding some way of escaping before she found herself in whatever hellish place _'Starkiller City'_ was.

Being so absorbed in her now racing thoughts, Rey didn't notice the prisoner in front of her stop walking and nearly went straight into her back. She caught herself just in time and peered around to see what the problem was. The prisoner at the front of the line was an old man, seemingly the oldest of the group, with deep wrinkles in his face and a beard that reached his chest, and he stood practically swaying on the spot. His dirty clothes were drenched with sweat, and he was wheezing heavily. Though the other prisoners didn't look much better.

"Keep moving." A guard with a red gas mask, that completely covered his face, stepped forward and pointed his gun at the old man with a click.

The whole group had stopped moving by now, the other guards standing to attention around them, and Rey craned her neck to see what was happening.

"I said keep moving." The guard snapped.

Rey felt herself bristle as she looked from the old man, wheezing with every breath and struggling to stay upright, to the guard still holding the gun to his chest. She couldn't believe that they were trying to get the poor man to move on - he could barely stand! But she held her opinions inside with difficulty, knowing that remaining inconspicuous and well behaved was going to be how she earned her escape. She was just a skinny scavenger girl they picked up on the road. A nobody. They were bound to get complacent with their watch over her - just a moment was all she needed - then she'd give them the slip. She just had to stay under the radar and not draw any attention to herself.

The old prisoner finally attempted to take a shaky step forward, but he crumpled to his hands and knees and threw up loudly. The guard jumped back with a noise of disgust and Rey's stomach clenched in sympathy, as the man heaved and retched, knowing there wouldn't be much to come up, as they had been given very little to eat and drink. But the guard recovered from his shock quickly and resumed his position, now pointing the gun down at the old man's head.

"You will get up, or you will die." He hissed through clenched teeth, the sound muffled strangely by his mask.

Finally the prisoner spoke. "I - I can't." He wheezed. "Don't... No... Can't..." He coughed, still on his hands and knees, and Rey couldn't stop flashes of the memory of a woman growing still, as red bloomed across her dirty shirt, from running through her mind. Her eyes flicked over to the other prisoners, but they weren't even looking at him; their heads were all bowed over, though whether it was through resignation or unawareness she couldn't be sure.

She clenched her jaw.

She had to stay inconspicuous. She was a nobody. Wasn't worth watching.

The gun clicked.

"Can't you see they just need a break?" She exploded, before she could stop herself, her voice sounding clearer and stronger than she expected. The guards all turned to face her, but were so unfamiliar with their prisoners speaking up that none of them moved. Rey was dimly aware of the dark shape of their leader in the distance, striding towards the group, having noticed them all stopped in the middle of the road, but she was unable to stem the flow of her feelings and opinions that she had been shoving down all this time, and continued in the same fervent voice.

"How can you all be so blind? If you keep pushing them like this, you'll kill them _all._ They need a break." She didn't even notice that she'd begun to walk to the prisoner at the front. "You think you have any say over who survives and who doesn't, while you hide behind your masks like the monsters you are."

Rey had positioned herself in front of the old man as she spoke, between him and the gun, in a way that wasn't too dissimilar to how she had defended BB-8 from the dog only the day before. Except that she had no staff to hold in front of her this time, and she was putting her life on the line to defend a complete stranger rather than her best friend.

The guard regarded her coldly.

"Get back in line prisoner. We have our orders."

"Make me." Rey said, lifting her chin. Finally speaking out had made her bold; if she'd just ruined her chances of escape then she wasn't going to go to Starkiller City quietly.

The guard narrowed his eyes behind his red gas mask, and Rey heard him take a rattling breath in the complete silence. She was acutely aware of the gun pointed at her chest and knew the man in front of her was wrestling with loyalty to his orders and leader over how much he wanted to pull the trigger. She found it liberating to be free of the fear surrounding that decision; if she died here than at least she'd die standing up for herself, she thought grimly, though trying to save another human being wasn't how she had imagined she'd get herself into this kind of situation.

But the moment was interrupted by the arrival of their leader, and all of the members of The First Order snapped to attention at his approach. The one in front of her reluctantly lowered his weapon to also stand ramrod straight, as the heavily cloaked figure stepped towards them, his two personal bodyguards taking over the job of pointing guns at her, and she saw the guard's hate filled eyes flash at her before he looked respectfully to his leader.

"Sorry, sir. Just some commotion with the prisoners."

Sunlight flashed off the decorative silver metal on the leader's mask as he swept his gaze from the guard who had spoken, to Rey, and then to the old man, now lying on his side by his own vomit and bile.

"I see." He eventually said flatly. "There is no time for interruptions, we move on immediately." He turned with a swish of his heavy cloaks and went to move away.

"Then you might as well shoot us all now." Rey's voice was steady, and he stopped at the sound. "These people are at the end of their limit, keep pushing and they'll break. You might not care for their well-being or even for the loss of one or two of them, but you'd go to all the trouble of getting these prisoners, walking them through the wastelands, and then go back to your... 'Starkiller City'... empty handed?" She could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears at the adrenaline rush, but her voice didn't waver.

Speaking up to the mysterious figure, that looked more nightmare than man, felt far more dangerous than we'd spoken up to the guards; like standing outside in a storm, she could almost feel his darkness and rage crackling in the air around him.

He didn't turn around, so there was a long moment where she just stood staring defiantly at his broad back. His left hand was clenched into a fist, while his right clenched and unclenched stiffly. He was considering her words.

"Break until the sun sets." He finally growled. "Then we walk through the night. Leave me." He snapped as the two bodyguards made to follow him as he stalked away.

Rey let out a breath as his oppressive presence lifted at his departure, not bothering to watch where he went as he left the road and disappeared into the dry undergrowth and dead trees surrounding the tarmac. The First Order members all scurried into action as if he was still there though, and herded the standing prisoners to a spot on the dusty roadside, where they all but collapsed onto the ground, while a couple of them began patrolling the area and the rest took seats on the floor nearby, under the shade of a blackened tree trunk. Nobody bothered to help the old prisoner. Rey leant down and helped the old man crawl to a spot by the other prisoners, which was made significantly harder by the shackles connecting her wrists, and moved into the relative shade of a twiggy shrub, being closely watched by the guards.

The shrub was a light shade of brown, much like everything else in the wastelands, and its sharp branches stuck into her back painfully as she leant against it with a sigh. In all honesty, she needed the break just as much as the other prisoners. She'd only gotten a few hours sleep over two whole nights so far, and it seemed as if she was going to go another night without one too. The adrenaline that had made her so bold before was beginning to ebb, and a bone aching weariness was beginning to take its place.

The guards would be watching her closely now. Any hopes she'd had of slipping away unnoticed had disappeared the moment she'd opened her mouth. Which was even more frustrating because it went against everything she had taught herself about survival and about other people, reviving the uncomfortable thought that she didn't hate humanity as much as she thought. Just aspects of it, she mentally added, looking over at the huddle of gas masks nearby.

She hadn't realised a few of them had been walking with huge packs on their backs, they must have been walking behind the prisoners on the march, but they had placed them in the centre of their little group and were reaching deep inside to pull out bottles of water and food tins. It was also where they'd stored the shields she'd seen from their attack with the raiders, and all the spoils they'd plundered from the gas station, judging by all the clunking she could hear coming from them. It was only as she began to lose interest that she noticed a familiar silver glint poking out from the top of the bag furthest from where she sat. Her staff. The compulsion to go over and snatch it from them was almost overwhelming. It would sound strange to say that a staff felt like a friend, but Rey spent most of her waking hours with it either in her ands or strapped to her back, and relied upon it with a trust deeper than any she had ever given. Its strength had never failed her, either as a weapon or as a tool to get into wreckages to scavenge, and she missed the feel of its solidness in her hands, like she was missing an extension of herself.

Rey finally looked away with difficulty, feeling her stomach ache with emptiness as the guards all shared out food and water, and closed her eyes instead. Their leader hadn't taken any rations before he stormed away, so at least the prisoners weren't the only ones with empty bellies. That was a cheerful thought to pierce her melancholy. Though she wouldn't be surprised if he had them hidden in the many layers of cloak weighing him down. She had to wonder how he could stalk around in the wastelands wearing such a dark and cumbersome outfit, when she could see sweat pouring down the faces of the prisoners, and knew she didn't look much better. She certainly wouldn't want to be wearing a mask in all this heat either, since her scarf was light but even that was sometimes too much.

All the radiation had eaten away at the atmosphere of the planet, so the sun was always strong and fierce, making clouds struggle to form, but Rey had read a book once where it described the way rain used to help plants and trees grow into bursts of colour and green, and she would spend hours fantasising about it when she was alone.

Rey only realised she'd fallen asleep when her eyes fluttered open to the sound of someone's voice.

"Wake up. We leave now." The voice was gruff and commanding, the effect amplified by the gas mask's breathing apparatus over the guard's mouth, and he bent down to place something by her feet, then moved into formation with the others.

Rey cringed as she leant forward, moving muscles stiff with sleep, and slowly pushed herself upright, reaching her bound hands high above her head to stretch out. She picked up what the guard had left, realised it was food and water, then immediately took huge gulps out of the bottle of water, making sure to leave just a little in the bottom for later, and tipped the entire contents of a small tin of fruit down her throat, swallowing it in one. The syrupy tinned fruit revived her energy a little and she felt better for the few hours of sleep she had gotten, though relying on tiny food rations brought back bitter, resentful feelings of her childhood, that she tried to push away as she reluctantly moved back into line.

The sun had completely set so she didn't get a particularly good look at the other prisoners on her way past, but they all looked less unsteady on their legs, the old man in particular, and their green eyes seemed a little brighter.

Once she was back in line, very aware now of her staff being so close behind her, the whole group began the march forward, and Rey fell into the rhythm uncomfortably easily. She assumed their leader was in out in front again, but even with the light of the moon he was completely camouflaged in the darkness.

Walking on a road at night went against everything Rey knew about survival in the nuclear wastelands, so she couldn't help but feel a little on edge as her brown eyes roamed the shadows as they marched. They hadn't passed many cars abandoned on this route, and she wondered if that was because of the remote location or because The First Order had cleared them away. She didn't recognise any of the roads they'd been walking since the first couple of hours into the trip, but she'd been trying to commit features to memory (a certain kind of car, a particularly large tree trunk, left or right forks in the route) so that she'd be able to find her way home when - _if_ \- she managed to escape.

Despite the potential dangers of the walk in the dark, the journey was entirely uneventful and the march was slow and tedious. Rey's replenished energy was beginning to fade again as the sun began to rise once more, the horizon turning a hazy light blue, and she noticed distinct changes in the lightening landscape; the tarmac itself was clear of dust, a dark inky black without the layer of brown, while thick wire fencing lined the roadside and deep bullet holes were scattered along the ground. But the most noticeable feature was the city looming ahead of them.

There was a huge cluster of buildings rising up out of the wilderness itself, contained within a vast brick wall that seemed to stretch on for miles in all directions. The entire city was something she couldn't have even imagined; the structures stretched high into the sky, built on top of and around each other, as if they were just constantly being added to what was already there, creating a chaotic kind of silhouette, and the scale of the place was enormous. But even more impressive was the illumination shining out of every window; the whole place was lit up like a beacon, with more electricity than she had ever seen in one place.

Rey swallowed hard at their increasing approach, unconsciously slowing down enough for the guard behind her to prod her hard in the back with his gun and command her to keep moving. She sped back up to her normal pace, alarmed at how quickly the walls were rising as they neared, only serving to make the city seem even larger.

How was she going to get out of this.

How.

How.

The whole group finally reached the base of the wall, where a large gate had been built into the brick itself, and two guards beside it both raised their guns at their approach.

The man with the red gas mask stepped forward and saluted.

"Lord Ren's prisoners." He said in a clipped tone. Rey didn't even have time to realise she had finally learned their leader's name before the couple standing by the door, also in gas masks, turned around, looked up and nodded, gave a small salute to the group, then moved back into position as the gate swung open. Rey looked up and squinted, realising there were also guards standing on top of the wall above them, but was pushed harshly at her back and stumbled into motion again.

So she'd finally reached Starkiller City... but what were they going to do with her?


	4. Slaves or Soldiers

This chapter had the working title of 'Rey finally learns some things'. It was fun fleshing out the world of this AU, and I hope you are as interested to discover it as Rey is  
Also, be excited for the next chapter - it's titled 'Kylo Ren'.

And as always, thank you so much for the kind comments. I love reading your enthusiasm, and what you think might be going on! Really keeps me writing.

(Cross-posted on AO3)

* * *

 **Slaves or Soldiers**

A patchwork of wood and metal rose up on all sides as Rey entered the city. The gate slammed shut behind her with a note of finality. No going back now.

If anything, the city looked even more impressive from the inside, as she was surrounded by buildings (some only as big as a room, others larger than entire pre-Event houses) that were built unevenly stacked on top of each other and joined together oddly by mismatching scraps of material. In fact, all of the buildings looked to be made of entirely different pieces of wood and metal - making the city a medley of textures, greys and browns. She could clearly see the door panel of a rusty red car being used as part of a building's wall, and a cluster of twiggy tree branches bound together as the roof on another.

There was something unnerving about it all. The city rose out of the landscape like a mutation; all wrong angles and unnatural shapes, cobbled together using whatever materials were around, and it only served to make the whole place look like some twisted nightmarish mockery of what a city should be. Even the atmosphere felt off, and the oppressive air made Rey shudder to her very core. She couldn't stay here.

The eleven or so guards from their journey were surrounding the line of exhausted prisoners in a tight formation, keeping them moving forward. Rey, at the back of the line, felt one directly behind her, and any slight slowing of her steps was rewarded with a harsh push to her back.

The ground beneath her feet was still the dusty, dead, sand-like earth she was used to in the Wastelands, but it had been compressed by the marching of many boots over so many years that it had become completely solid - almost like concrete - and curiously the road they had been travelling on to get here still ran through its centre, like they had built on top of and around it. Rey craned her neck as they passed more mismatched buildings, to try and see between them at what lay deeper into the city, but couldn't see beyond the wooden struts and walkways obscuring any free space within the jumble of buildings.

While Rey was frantically trying to take in as much of her surroundings as she could, in case she needed to remember her way back out again, she became aware of another oddity. Almost hidden in tiny alleyways, precariously balanced on wooden struts, or crouched on uneven roofs, were a few people that looked different to everyone she had seen from the First Order so far. Their clothes were all worn with age, that completely covered their arms and legs, and were all in shades of brown or grey, making them hard to spot against the backdrop of the same colours around them. Rather than gas masks these people were all wearing goggles and large dark bandanas that almost completely obscured their faces. Rey continued to watch them with curiosity as they hammered and screwed pieces of material onto the buildings.

Her observations were cut short as she stumbled into a doorway. The guards had led them into a cavernous room, easily the size of two houses, the roof rose high above them, made from some sort of corrugated tin sheeting, and both the walls and floor were made with fairly decent planks of wood. It was easily the most well put together building she had seen so far, and her boots clunked loudly on the solid flooring as she was pushed further inside. There were even seats; long benches arranged in two rows, with an empty walkway separating them, and at the back of the room was a large stage, rising high out of the floor. A lectern stood at the front of the stage, with a strange symbol carved onto its front, and Rey was sure that she recognised seeing the same symbol periodically throughout the city on her way in.

A door to the left of the stage opened suddenly and a man entered the room, wearing a long black and silver coat and a sharp black hat atop his flame coloured hair. He was closely followed by another taller member of the First Order, wearing a bright silver gas mask that completely covered their head, and a long red cloak over a similar black and silver outfit. They both looked well dressed and dramatic; the man wore a stern expression, while the other person's face was hidden entirely (Rey didn't know which was worse) so they both commanded attention and carried an unmistakable air of authority.

The prisoners were moved to stand in a line at the front of the stage, and the guards behind them stiffened to attention as the newcomers climbed the steps onto the stage and strode to the front. The man moved behind the lectern, clasping his hands behind his back, while his taller companion stood at a respectful distance to his side.

"Welcome to Starkiller City." He drawled, his voice amplified by the high ceiling. "No doubt you're all wondering what you're doing here, and what's going to happen to you now that you've finally made it this far." He continued in the same flat voice, while Rey internally scoffed. He wasn't even really looking at the prisoners below him, who were all gazing at their feet or staring ahead blankly.

"Well I'm here to assure you that there is a place for you here, if you work hard and prove yourselves useful to the First Order, and in return for your service you will have the privilege of being a part of the new world. All of you will probably be labourers, helping to maintain our glorious city and tend to the farms, but maybe there will be an undiscovered genius among you, and you could end up on our engineering or science teams. You could even be lucky enough to be promoted into the ranks of First Order Soldier."

Rey scowled.

"For now Captain Phasma will escort you to the hospital, where you will receive a medical check up and your one free dose of A.R.M's. Show dedication to the First Order and you will never be a victim of radiation poisoning again." His voice gained some fire at the end, but he still didn't glance down at the prisoners he was addressing.

"So we're to be slaves or soldiers then?" Rey asked defiantly, staring unflinchingly at the two figures on the stage. The butt of a gun was jabbed into her back and she pitched forward slightly with a wince.

"Quiet!" The guard behind her commanded indignantly.

Rey resisted the urge to turn around and glare, as she realised the smartly dressed man on the stage was finally taking a good look at the prisoners - and his steely gaze settled on her.

He gave a small nod to the guard behind her, and she felt him back off, but Rey wouldn't be intimidated by his show of power; she held her head high. Amusement seemed to flicker across his features for a brief moment but then he narrowed his eyes.

"Ah," he said, "you must be why Ren returned in an even fouler mood than usual."

Rey bristled at the mention of her captor. He had obviously arrived at the city before the main group, due to his lead ahead of them all, but she'd been so distracted since her entrance that she had managed to put him out of her mind. She still blamed him entirely for everything that had happened to her so far, and a small part of her was struggling with a sick kind of regret that she hadn't killed him that night when he'd found her by the gas station.

Rey shuddered and tried to swallow, but her mouth was so dry that nothing went down.

What an awful person he had turned her into; that she should regret not _Killing_ someone.

"What if I don't want to be part of the First Order at all?" Rey continued, trying to refocus at the task at hand, and acting as if the man hadn't spoken.

He seemed bemused by her question, as he gazed down at her, and she realised it wasn't just the soldiers on the road who were unprepared for their prisoners to speak up for themselves. It seemed that nobody in the First Order knew quite what to do when faced with defiance and autonomy.

Rey found herself wondering how she appeared from his perspective; a skinny young woman, whose brown eyes blazed out of a face smeared with sweat and dirt, tangled hair coming out of two day old buns, bruised arms, scarred hands, well worn boots, and stained tan coloured shorts and tunic under a long brown scarf, all covered in a thick layer of dust. Just another scavenger from the Wastelands.

"You could always die." He eventually said seriously. "You are a part of this city now, and so are part of the First Order. We only have a use for hard workers, our 'slaves or soldiers', so those are your only options. You should feel lucky to have them." He added dangerously.

What had she been expecting, she thought bitterly, that they would apologise for involving her in all this and send her on her way?

"This city is evil." Rey managed, her voice cracking with emotion and her parched throat. She tried desperately to rein in the maelstrom of feelings storming around her head, as she realised how dire her circumstances were getting. Her only hope was to stay strong, and to remain hopeful - use her knowledge of survival and her wits and use what she'd got available (which admittedly wasn't very much at this point).

"You must have certainly tried his patience." The man's lips lifted into a dark smile, full of a cruel sort of amusement that he didn't bother to conceal this time. He turned to his companion with a nod, who then descended the steps to the stage and strode towards the line of prisoners and their guards.

"My name is Captain Phasma. You will address me as Captain or Sir." The words had an echo to them due to the large silver gas mask, covering their entire face, but Rey was surprised to still catch a definite feminine tone to the words, though they were still emotionless and brisk. The guards surrounding the sad looking line of prisoners saluted at their Captain at her introduction, and Rey found herself wondering why everyone was speaking to the prisoners as if they had any idea what was going on. She didn't think they were even aware enough to know where they were, let alone take in what had been said to them so far. They were forcibly moved apart so that Captain Phasma had a clear space to walk through them, marching down the rows of seats, then were pushed back into line to shuffle after her, Rey still at the back. It was only on her way out that she noticed the seats nearest to the stage were built with sturdy, thick pieces of wood, while they decreased significantly in quality the further away they got. Closest to the entrance the seats were nothing more than blackened brittle planks nailed crudely onto uneven bases.

Rey chanced a quick glance behind her as she stepped through the doorway, back into the city, but the man on the stage had gone.

She had the distinct notion that she'd managed to make a terrible first impression with all of the city's powerful inhabitants she had met so far. Which didn't bode well for her plans of escape. Rey had been bullied and blackmailed for too long of her young life, and she just wouldn't take it anymore. When she'd escaped from Unkar Plutt she'd vowed never to be anyone's prisoner again and to only ever rely on herself, so she wasn't going to take their power trips quietly... As long as her boldness didn't get her killed...

When Rey took another look around she realised they were heading further into the city. She was sure that the quality of materials they had used on their buildings was increasing, if only marginally, though they were still built haphazardly at angles and atop rickety walkways. She was reminded of the building they had just left, and wondered if certain areas were just not worth the better resources, or whether they had expanded so much they had started to run out of places to scavenge? Rey also noticed less of the strange people in bandanas, although she could still spot one or two of them working in the shadows with coils of wire over their shoulders, reaching up at light bulbs or power connectors.

How the First Order managed to generate so much electricity was another mystery she intended to solve before she made her escape.

Captain Phasma led the group towards a particularly tall structure, that impressed Rey by being just one building, rather than a few built on top of each other, like she had become used to seeing. The tower had many large window holes along its walls, containing no glass, and soldiers were positioned in a couple of the gaps with long rifles held ready across their chests. There was a hushed kind of buzz coming from inside; from the sound of many low voices and the rhythmic marching of boots. Two walkways reached out from the main tower, on its left and right faces, connecting it to two smaller buildings on struts, making them only accessible from the tower itself. She also noticed the same symbol she had seen on the lectern was carved and painted multiple times into the wood at the front, and weather worn masks were also attached to the outside wall. Rey shuddered at the effect of the glassy goggles staring out unblinkingly across the city.

The Captain didn't pause in her stride as the group of Guards surrounding them fell away to stand in two lines at the doorway to the tall building. Rey twisted her head around to watch them, as the one in the red mask saluted a soldier beside the entrance, and she just about caught what he was saying before they turned right and moved out of sight.

"DL-6991 and Squad returning from Lord Ren's Worker Acquirement Patrol. Requesting debriefing with Captain Bose - "

Rey felt the briefest sensation of relief at their guards departure, hoping she never had to see those particular masks again, just as Captain Phasma brought them to a stop before a small wooden shack. A cross shape had been carved lopsidedly onto the door, so Rey could only assume this was their destination - the 'hospital'. It certainly didn't look like the pictures she had seen of pre-Event hospitals in the past, and she was disappointed at the grubby building before her. It contrasted sharply with the impressive soldier-filled structure they had just left behind, and she was beginning to get a clearer idea of what Starkiller City was like. She had to wonder what happened to most of the people who got sick or injured, if this was the place to make them better.

Inside was a row of six beds, though the one furthest away from the entrance at the end was currently hidden behind a drawn curtain splashed with brown stains. The beds she could see were made of plain rusty frames with mattresses that were mostly rotting and clearly very old, so they must have been scavenged from somewhere. The sight of beds, even as dirty and uncomfortable as they looked, brought exhaustion washing over Rey. The shock of the city had numbed her somewhat, but now she could feel the weakness in her legs and burning on the soles of her feet. She wanted nothing more than to curl up on one of the mattresses and fall into a sleep of dreamless oblivion - where there was no First Order or Starkiller City or faceless guards keeping her prisoner.

A woman with dark hair was stood by a low table full of grim looking instruments and bottles of differently coloured pills. There were deep lines at the corners of her thin lips and dark shadows bruised the skin below her eyes; giving her the appearance of someone much older, she was wearing a long yellowing coat that must have once been white, and a light blue bandana tied around her neck. She saluted at the tall Captain.

"Ready to receive the new Workers, Sir."

"Good. I expect them fit for induction by sunrise." Captain Phasma ordered and inclined her head slightly, her shiny mask flashing in the unnatural light from the bare light bulb above (there were no windows) and then with a swish of her blood red cloak, made her exit.

The woman helped each of the semi-conscious prisoners to a bed, speaking softly as she introduced herself, though Rey thought it still sounded very hollow and emotionless.

"Hello there, my name is Doctor Cosol," she murmured to each one in turn, "you're safe now, so don't worry. The First Order has saved you from radiation forever. All you have to do is work hard and King Snoke will make sure you never suffer from radiation poisoning ever again."

 _King Snoke?_

A crash came from the bed behind the curtain and Rey jumped at the sudden noise, though the doctor only cringed slightly while she continued with the slow task of helping the five other prisoners to lie down. Rey shifted closer, trying to ignore the feeling of her boots sticking to the stained floorboards with each step, trying to hear the people behind the curtain.

"I-I'm sorry, sir, but I've thoroughly examined it twice now, as you requested, and it... well... there's too much swelling to be bruising - it really is a muscle sprain."

"Then fix it." Came a low metallic grumble that Rey recognised with a sinking feeling.

"W-Well, I'm afraid these things just have to heal with time." The other voice, high pitched and feminine, sped up. "It's lucky you were wearing those thick gloves since they cushioned most of the impact, because without them we might have been looking at a serious fracture instead. In fact, I'm not entirely sure there isn't any fracturing, since we can't see the bone, but -"

"How long?" The voice growled.

"Um, yes, I'll just need to bandage it up to support the muscles." There was a sound of ripping cloth. "And you'll need to keep it mostly still for a few days - gentle movements only - then it should be mostly healed in a... well... w-week or two." The voice sped up again. "And I really can't advise you leaving the city in that time unless you want to permanently damage your hand."

Another crash sounded, louder than the first, and Rey only realised she'd been inching closer to the curtain when it was torn aside and the imposing dark figure of her captor nearly collided with her. She jerked back in surprise, her eyes darting to his hands automatically; the left was still in a black glove, but the right was wrapped in strips of white fabric. When she looked back up, his masked face was pointed straight at her, and she realised he'd removed the hooded cloak and the mask was actually a helmet that covered his whole head. She could almost feel the bitter resentment rolling off him in waves and she glared back at the black visor. Here she was, covered in two days worth of dirt, dust and sweat, shackled, exhausted and trying to push down a constant icy sensation of fear, and he was standing there put out with _her_ for what she'd done to his hand.

She didn't care that her wrists were bound together. Didn't care that she was in a hospital. Or that her whole body was screaming out for rest. If he wanted to make something of it, she'd fight him again right now. He was obviously not used to anyone getting the better of him, and it must be particularly frustrating that it was by a prisoner like herself, so she'd show him what she could really do when she wasn't caught off guard in the dark.

Rey wasn't sure if the ferocity of her thoughts had made itself onto her face, but after a long moment he tore away from her and stormed out of the building. He threw open the door and slammed it shut so hard behind him that she felt the reverberations through her feet.

As the intensity and the adrenaline faded Rey felt herself visibly sag and leant against a nearby wall for support. She became aware of Doctor Cosol openly staring at her, and a younger woman with the same grey eyes and dark hair as the doctor, by the now open curtain, doing the same.

All of the fake softness was gone from Doctor Cosol's voice as she bustled over. "Now I don't know what that was about Worker, but you must have some kind of death wish giving a black look like that to Kylo Ren." She bent down to right a small table that had been pushed over beside the empty bed, and replaced the scattered instruments on top. Rey felt the younger woman firmly take hold of her arm and lead her to the old mattress.

"He started it." Rey muttered with a frown.

The doctor ignored her and brought over a heavy black box with a light bulb coming out of the top, placing it on the bed beside Rey as she lay down.

"Don't go taking him lightly. He's as mysterious as they come - nobody knows hardly a thing about him. Only that he's got a wicked temper and he reports straight to King Snoke himself." Doctor Cosol warned in a hard voice.

Rey opened her mouth to ask about this _King_ Snoke person, but winced instead as she felt a sharp pain in her arm. The younger woman was on the opposite side of the bed to the doctor, and held up a needle in explanation at Rey's panicked look.

"Just something to help you sleep, no need to worry. I'm Nurse Aliva Cosol," she motioned to the older woman, "and this is my older sister, Doctor Risener Cosol." Rey began to feel the effects of whatever they'd injected her with, and all her doubts and suspicions began to melt pleasantly away.

"Mine's Rey." She mumbled, looking over at the strange light bulb box. Doctor Cosol lifted her hand, Rey found she no longer had the strength to resist, and she was aware of another brief sharp pain on her finger. She watched with a detached kind of interest as the doctor squeezed a few drops of blood from her pricked finger onto a metal slide, that she then pushed into an empty slot in the box. She had just enough consciousness to turn her head slowly to look across at the other prisoners in their beds, already fast asleep, with the same boxes beside them. All the bulbs were glowing a bright green. Darkness fuzzed around the edges of her vision and Rey closed her eyes gratefully, not able to stop the thought that the bed she was lying on was warm, and smelt of something masculine and dark; like a rainstorm at night.

She'd practically fallen unconscious before Doctor Cosol's voice rasped out in the silence.

"Impossible!"


	5. Kylo Ren

Kylo Ren

The walk from the hospital to his room was very brief, so did little to curb Kylo Ren's fury. He slammed his front door behind him with a force that sent a thick layer of dust from the floorboard dispersing into the air. Then for just a moment he stood completely motionless except for the slight shake of his hands, and the rapid rise and fall of his chest. The dust swirled lazily in the still air, almost sparkling in the slats of sunlight piercing the gloom of his windowless room, through the tiny gaps between uneven wooden panels that didn't quite fit together. Unlike the other members of the First Order with any kind of power he hadn't wanted to live in the centre of the city - his room was a small rectangular building set back from the mainly populated areas, on the western edge of Starkiller City, built on stilts, with only one set of steps leading to its entrance. It ensured he was never overlooked or disturbed; there not being much in the west of the city except the hospital and a cluster of old disused storerooms. He preferred it that way. It was an isolation he chose.

Kylo Ren let his back lean against the door as his breathing slowed and he unclenched his fists, the bandaged one sending pain shooting up his arm at the movement. He knew he was lucky that it hadn't broken, he'd felt the power behind the swing of that staff when it connected, but he still couldn't help the anger pulsing through him at his situation. He knew that he would have to wait for his injury to heal, and that he would have to stay in the city while it did, unable to even train to distract him from his confinement, and it made him feel weak. It was not something he was used to.

Kylo slammed his injured hand against the door, feeling an even sharper pain lance through his nerves, and pushed away to move further into the room.

There was very little furniture inside, as he didn't spend much time in his room on the whole, and he didn't see the point in anything cluttering his space if it didn't have any practicality. There was just a simple desk and chair, a metal chest at the foot of a large bed, and one bare light bulb on the ceiling. A door at the back of the room also led to a tiny bathroom, containing one of the three working showers in the whole city (one being in the Central Tower and another connected to Hux's personal room). On top of the bed lay two objects: Kylo's thick hooded cloak, from where he had thrown it earlier, which he lifted and ran a thumb critically over one of the seams - it would need to be sent to the Fabric Workers to be repaired in places where the stitching was starting to come loose - and a long metal pole. Kylo replaced the cloak and stared at the staff as if it offended him. At first he reached for it unthinkingly with his right hand, but winced, cursed, and switched to his left, remembering how he had done the very same thing a couple of nights before. It was lighter than it appeared, obviously hollow, and the middle had been dented multiple times to provide a good grip. He gave on experimental swing, appreciating the whoosh it made as it sliced through the air, and remembered the way it had been handled against him. That girl...

Kylo hissed in frustration and threw the staff across the room. It clanged loudly against the wood and stirred up the dust once more as it rolled away. Every thought kept leading him back to the girl. He didn't even know why he had wanted her staff, since he should have just left it to rust in the wastelands in the first place, and then he'd further surprised himself by ordering it to be brought to him upon re-entry to the city. What could he possibly gain by keeping the weapon that had injured his hand and made him so miserable? He could practically see her expression if she knew it was back in his possession, as he recognised the darkness and hatred he saw burning in her brown eyes from his own. But she was different to him too.

He'd understood her anger, fear and hatred, the emotions King Snoke had raised him to embrace, but had been completely taken aback by what else he'd seen alongside them. Kylo couldn't understand how she could practically radiate goodess, yet still express the darker emotions that he had spent his whole life trying desperately to control; she was angry, but didn't lose herself in it, she was fearful but he'd seen her courage overcome the fear, and she hated (oh there was no doubt she _hated him_ ) but she had shown something he had never expected to see in Starkiller City...

 _Compassion_ , whispered a voice in his mind that sounded suspiciously like Luke Skywalker.

The sigh that burst out of him was almost a growl, and Kylo suddenly longed to tear off his helmet and run an agitated hand through his hair like he used to. Memories of his past only served to reopen the box of loneliness and disappointment he'd long since buried deep inside himself. He hadn't thought about his childhood in a long time, and it was even longer since he'd remembered any of Skywalker's ridiculous moral life lectures on compassion and kindness.

It was the girl's fault, Kylo thought, sitting down on the edge of the bed, more heavily than he intended as his exhausted legs finally began to give in. He remembered being impressed by her ferocity and skill at first, and her boldness in trying to fight him, and thinking she might make a good soldier, then using that initial assessment as an excuse to keep her alive even after seeing her air of defiance. Especially when she stood up for those radiation poisoned no-hopers, all destined to die or to be Workers for the rest of their lives. But she had intrigued him, he knew, and that infuriated him the most.

She was clearly just some scavenger - a nobody - that should be far beneath his interest, should not be occupying any of his thoughts, and certainly shouldn't be giving him the kind of disrespect she'd shown to him so far. The respect he had earned was won through fear, and though she had feared him at first, her irritating courage was holding the fear back. He thought again of the icy stare she had given him at the hospital and felt his temper rising. What had made her like that? How could she be so different to the other prisoners they had brought into the city?

He supposed it was the goodness hidden under all the hardness survival had obviously forged her into; her kindness, her compassion, that made her so unique amongst Starkiller City, and reminded him of the figures from his past. The family of his old life. Those people who had been so preoccupied with helping others, fighting for their cause, and holding onto their ridiculous morals, that they never saw the one who needed their help the most right in front of them.

Kylo paced by his desk and slammed his injured hand onto its surface, feeling a sharp stab of pain that burst into this senses with such an intensity, even for just a fraction of a second, that it pulled him out of his reverie.

He made a sudden movement toward the metal chest at the foot of the bed, but then opened it slowly and lifted out the contents with care. The papers in his hands were mostly blackened and brittle, with some of the pages torn or so badly fire damaged that they were completely illegible. The less damaged parts he had read so often that he had completely memorised them, pouring over them day and night after King Snoke had given them to him. The handwriting was scruffy, not unlike his own, as if it was hastily written down as fast as the thoughts had come, and it scrawled across the pages. He gazed reverently at the cover page as he placed the stack gently on the desk and bent over it, his hands either side of the fragile papers. The front cover was a soot stained piece of paper with one edge almost torn off, but it was still quite clear to read the words 'Radiation Exposure and the Evolution of Immunity: Observations and Experiments into the Nature and Limits of Radiation Poisoning. Carried Out and Recorded by Doctor Vader (under instruction from Doctor Palpatine of Death Star Labs Inc..)'.

His grandfather's research.

"Forgive me grandfather," Kylo breathed into the silence, the mask warping the soft words into something harsh and metallic, "I was losing sight of it again... What I'm doing here... What I'm trying to achieve. I promised you, the day King Snoke gave me your research, I promised I would finish what you started and complete it."

He stared intently at the stack of paper, as if it could somehow give him the inner peace he sought, then carefully lowered it back into the chest.

Reminding himself of his purpose had at least finally put his racing thoughts in order again, and helped to ease some of his strange confliction. Again the urge to run a hand through his hair washed over him, and Kylo wished he had something else to throw just to do something - anything - with his hands to dispel the old habit, but instead only rubbed bitterly at the bandages supporting his sprained muscles, feeling a low prickle of pain run through the nerves. Then, with a suddenness that almost surprised himself, Kylo stood to his full height, snatched up the staff, from the floor where it had landed, and wrenched open the door. The full glare of the strong mid-afternoon wasteland sun was almost blinding after the gloom of his windowless room, but the dark visor on his mask protected him from the harsh light, and Kylo only paused long enough to lock the door with a large, rusty key, then stalked away through the city with purpose.

Any groups of patrolling soldiers he passed along the way seemed to tighten their formation at the sight of him, a couple of soldiers clearly on a break and chatting animatedly to each other silenced immediately at his approach, and though he only passed a few Workers the closer he got to the centre of the city, they all shrank even further into the shadows when he came near. Despite his lack of concern for the day to day workings of the city, and even less for the individual lives of its inhabitants, he couldn't deny the thrill it gave him to witness the power he held within its walls. Any order he gave was followed out dutifully and without question, even though he held no official title, and there was nowhere in the city that was off limits to him. He had however forbidden anyone access to his room, which was why it was always coated in the dust he didn't see the point in clearing. It was one of the Workers' main jobs; to follow the command of King Snoke that his city always be free of dust. But his room was his sanctuary, his alone, and he would not allow anyone to intrude upon that, even the Workers. He had to admit that he would also feel uneasy knowing the sole surviving record of his grandfather's research was only hidden inside a box where it could be easily discovered. It was his link to the greatest scientist in the field of Radiation Exposure there had ever been. His legacy. So even though he didn't imagine the majority of the Workers could even read, he wouldn't take the chance of anyone discovering it, and just ensured absolutely no access to his room at all.

In the end though, although Kylo didn't dust his own space (why waste the energy?) he understood the idea behind keeping it out of the city; King Snoke was to be king and master of the new world, born from the decaying husk of the old one, and sought to conquer and control everything - even the environment and the blanket of death that smothered the landscape.

Kylo finally reached his destination, the Main Tower, and didn't even slow in his stride as the guard at the doorway saluted hastily and leaped out of his way. The Tower was visible from anywhere in the city, but Kylo knew the maze of streets so well he could walk them with his eyes closed. He swept up the stairs, turning at each new level and climbing the next set going up, until he reached an open spacious room on the top floor. It had a high ceiling and high windows, that let in pools of sunlight without dazzling the people inside. A worn bench was set to one side, next to a long line of racks holding various weaponry; baseball bats, old piping, different kinds of knives, and even a couple of rusty golf clubs. On the opposite side of the room was a collection of heavily dented oil drums and wooden posts with smaller pieces of wood sticking out of them, and a few metal shields propped up against the wall.

Kylo shoved the staff into a spare slot in one of the weapon racks. He felt a twinge of irritation that nothing had moved since the last time he was here, and took a moment to gaze around through his mask at the empty space with disappointment; this room used to be full of soldiers training and sparring, and loud with the sounds of clashing weapons, but then he'd suspected that the manufacturing of guns within the city would dampen the enthusiasm for hand-to-hand combat and melee style weaponry. Kylo placed his hand on the hilt of the sturdy metal rod still attached to his belt, then let it fall back to his side. _Rads_ , what he wouldn't give to do some forms. He had never been good at being patient, and waiting for his hand to heal before he could train again was a pain that cut him deep.

On his exit from the Main Tower Kylo was a little disappointed to realise he didn't feel much different than when he entered it. He had thought that getting rid of the staff would be like getting rid of all the thoughts that had been plaguing his mind all day, and that he could just carry on like before; but those feelings and memories had been dragged up from where he'd buried them and they were proving much harder to push down again. King Snoke would be so disappointed in him.

His mood grew dark again on the way back to his personal room, which wasn't helped by the atmosphere the further into the west of the city he went. The buildings became older and sparser and although it was dusted, like everywhere else, an air of emptiness and abandonment clung to the area like a mist. It was silent without the sound of marching soldiers down the forgotten streets, and free of wires criss-crossing across the roofs like spider webs, there being only a wire connecting to the hospital and one to his room.

Kylo wasn't expecting someone to be waiting on the steps to his room on his return. A petite woman with short dark hair stood up at his approach, drawing his attention to a long heavily stained apron and he recognised the nurse from earlier, though he didn't know her name. His mood darkened further, knowing a Worker would not be at his room unless they had important news that couldn't wait, and that usually meant something was wrong. There wasn't enough hope left inside him to think that it might be because she'd got the diagnosis of his hand wrong, and that it was in fact only bruised and fine to use like normal. His original suspicions of bad news were all but confirmed as she shifted nervously and descended to stand at the base of the steps, clasping her hands stiffly behind her back and bowing slightly at the waist.

"Sir," she acknowledged, straightening up and looking everywhere but at Kylo Ren, "Sir, I-I'm afraid I have some... Unusual news."

"Well?" Kylo said irritably, when she didn't immediately continue.

"I-It's about Rey... The pretty young woman that came in with the other prisoners?" The nurse clarified at Kylo's silence.

He didn't understand why learning her name made him feel so uneasy. He supposed it made her more of a person, more real, and he suddenly wished the nurse had never mentioned it. He could see why everyone in the city was given an identity code, rather than using their names, as stripping their identities away made them just Workers or Soldiers, and left those more important First Order members with power in their own named identities.

Kylo still said nothing, and the short woman looked increasingly flustered as she pushed some hair from her face and smoothed down the front of her creased apron. "Well it's actually about her Balatonium results to be more accurate, which I suppose does mean it's about her." The nurse's voice began to speed up again. "Since Balatonium detects even a tiniest fraction of radiation and reacts to form energy, as you know of course, we were waiting for her blood to react and power the light bulb, like everyone else's does, and - well - it's strange because it - uh - it didn't." She finished quietly.

"What?" Kylo heard himself say even as his brain felt like it stuttered to a stop. "Impossible."

He must also have taken a step forward, because she took a nervous one back from him.

"Y-Yes, that's what we thought at first too, so we did the test twice more and changed the Balatonium Box just to be sure, and there still wasn't even a flicker. We didn't know what to do - and well, since you brought her in we thought -"

She stopped abruptly as Kylo turned on his heels and stormed away towards the hospital, and he heard her trotting after him.

 _It wasn't possible_. It just wasn't possible that in all of the irradiated wasteland out there he would come across her, by chance, by accident, and bring her back to Starkiller City.

In only a few minutes Kylo shoved open the door to the shabby building and ignored the doctor's surprise as he looked at the occupied beds. "Ah! Lord Ren we -"

He moved to the far side of the room and tore back the dirty curtain surrounding the only prisoner he hadn't seen on the beds. He pulled it closed behind him and turned to look at her.

She looked exactly the same, except her face was relaxed, peaceful, and somehow looked less alive than when she had been scowling at him and her messy hair buns were escaping their ties and left wisps of dark brown around her face, that was still smudged with patched of dirt and dust. There was a box next to her on the bed, with an entirely blank light bulb on top of it.

Kylo picked up the box, removed the slide with the drops of blood on it, placing it to one side, and pushed hard on a clip on its base. He heard a click and slid the bottom half of the box forwards slightly, creating a tiny gap in the surface of the smooth dark lead, and the bulb instantly lit up in a flash of green. He frowned as he then clicked the box closed, and watched as the bulb dimmed and fizzed back to blank again. So the bulb worked, and the Balatonium was still sensitive enough to react to the radiation in the atmosphere.

He took a new slide from a pile nearby, pricked his finger, and watched a few drops of crimson fall onto its glassy surface, then slid it into place. Not even a flicker, as he knew there wouldn't be.

How could she be just like him? How was it possible?! He desperately controlled the impulse to throw the box across the room in his frustration at how little he understood about it all. She was just a scavenger from the wastelands - and yet here was undeniable proof that she was immune to radiation, like he was.

He had to wonder if she was even aware of it. It didn't appear as if she was, but then maybe she was just good at hiding it like he was? It was possible she thought she was alone in the world too? ... Kylo pushed those silly sentiments aside, regaining his composure and priorities; his main concern was what to tell King Snoke.

He became distantly aware of the quiet murmur of hushed voices from beyond the curtain, but ignored the two Hospital Workers.

Once King Snoke knew about the girl he would be eager to start the experimentation he had been itching to perform on Kylo, he just knew it. The only reason he hadn't already started on it was because the King knew he was more valuable to himself and the First Order alive and fully functioning. But the opportunity to perform his tests and experiments on a stranger who meant nothing, and so had no possible repercussions from side effects or death, would be something he wouldn't pass up. The King would be elated, and then might give him the chance to finally finish his grandfather's research with the results he achieved, generously sharing them with him for finding the girl in the first place. Or she might die in the process of his extreme testing (like the sorts of things the King had done to himself) or maybe even survive, but end up with nightmarish effects of too much Radiation Exposure. Even immune there was as point where the cells couldn't take the level of exposure and began to mutate to accommodate it. Kylo thought of the appearance of King Snoke, then looked back down at the sleeping girl.

There was another option. He could keep it from the King and perform his own, less invasive, tests and observe her behaviour and her level of immunity. He could finish his research in secret, and neither of them would ever know; she would be his test subject.

But how would he keep it from King Snoke? And stop her from finding out what he was doing? (The girl looked to be extremely perceptive.) First he would need to see how much she knew about her condition, if anything, so he would have to interrogate her himself. He would wait until after her induction tomorrow morning, and then finally get some answers from the scavenger girl - Rey.

* * *

This chapter gave me some issues. Poor Kylo is so confused and messed up sometimes. And they're finally going to have a real conversation. FINALLY. (Don't mess it up Ren)

I wanted the radiation immunity to be the quality that links them together right from the conception of this au - I'm so happy to be able to weave out some of my plots at last.

Thanks so much for all the reviews, follows and faves - they really make my day!


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